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Thursday, November 19th, 2009
Over the weekend, I was in the back of a cab, being driven by possibly the best London cabbie that ever existed. This guy talked non stop for 20 minutes straight and was particularly taken with my attire that day. A short skirt, nice pair of tights and a good pair of high heels was not lost on this gent.
‘I ain’t trying to butter your bread,’ he tells me. ‘But not only do you look like a lady, you act like one.’ I smile and thank him. He goes off on a rant about how no one puts any effort into how they look anymore, so it’s refreshing to see a lady who does. ‘Look at ‘em,’ he says, waving his arms around, pointing at random pedestrians as we cruise through the streets of London. ‘They don’t bloody give a shit, do they? It’s all jeans, boots and big massive coats.’
I tell him I grew up watching my grandmother who looked impeccable until the day she died. I can’t remember ever seeing her in a pair of trousers and she was always in her full make-up and a nicely coordinated outfit, even if she was going to sit in her house all day. I guess that rubbed off on me, I tell him, because even if I’m only going to the corner shop, I’ll throw on a pair of heels and look put together.
‘You see!’ he says. ‘That’s so rare now. I would like to thank you, on behalf of mankind, for making the effort.’ It’s hard to know how to respond when someone thanks you ‘on behalf of mankind,’ but I shall endeavor to remain committed to the cause of looking nice, Mr Cab Man.
Later, some 14 year old kid came up to me in the street and said ‘Oh my Days! You got nice legs Madam.’ I was disturbed, not just because I felt it was inappropriate for a lad so young to be so brazen, but also because being called ‘Madam’ made me feel about 50.
As I went to catch the train home, an old Jamaican man in the train station told me ‘you ‘ave a nice pairs o’ leg.’
I shall file the outfit I wore that day under ‘Pimping Mighty Gangsta Suit’ for its ability to bring together young, old and cabbies in agreeance on the niceness of my legs.
Tags: compliments, legs 11
Posted in fashion | 12 Comments »
Thursday, April 3rd, 2008
Like any woman, I love being complimented. But how much is too much? It’s a thin line between ‘I like your dress’ and ‘I want you to have my children’, you know what I’m saying? What you might perceive as the most innocent of comments can take you from ‘cool chick’ to ‘stalker bitch’ in the blink of an eye. I had a couple of ‘compliment overload’ situations recently, which got me thinking about how and when it is appropriate to douse someone with praise.
Scenario number 1 – Going through airport security.
Last week, when I was going through airport security at the ass crack of dawn for my big move, I wasn’t really in the mood for chatter. So when it was my turn, I just wanted to throw my bags on that conveyor thing, shimmy and shake through the metal detector and move on with my life.
I step up to the plate and come face to face with this chirpy cheerleader security chick. As I’m unloading my stuff, she starts in with the compliments. ‘I love your jacket! I’m gonna have to ask you to remove that and put it in the tray. Oh, it looks to be about my size too!’ I’m sure she was expecting me to giggle along with her, but I really wanted to jump over the conveyor belt and put her in a choke hold. You’re damn right it’s a nice jacket biyatch! And it would be totally wasted on someone working airport security in the boonies. ‘Oh, your boots are so cute too!’ she says. As I take off my fabulous fuck me boots and lay them in the tray, she picks them up and examines them. But not in a ‘security check’ kind of way, in a ‘shopping in a shoe store’ kind of way. ‘I’d love to know where you shop,’ she swoons.
Here’s the phrase that would have covered that situation quite nicely: ‘I like your outfit.’ That’s all she needed to say. But the comments about us being the same size and her wanting to know where I shop make me think, she just wants to be me (and frankly, who could blame her? I’m frikkin’ fabulous – but lets stay on point), so that put her into the stalker category. Not to mention the fact that she’s making those comments, while asking me to remove the items from my person, in a situation where she could confiscate them under false pretenses, saying Bin Laden manufactured my fuck me boots or something. Next thing I know, this bitch is swanning around town in my garms. Oh yeah, I’m onto her and her games.
Scenario number 2 – waiting on line in the bank
As a general rule, if there are crazies, drunks or homeless people around, they tend to flock to me like I’m Jesus healing a leper. The other day, I’m at the bank and a lady, looking a little worse for wear, decided to strike up a conversation. It wouldn’t have been so bad if her teeth hadn’t all but rotted out and she didn’t have the most intense case of halitosis and some power B.O (much stronger than just regular B.O). ‘I like your hair’ (naturally, I was rocking the bangs and a bun). I was momentarily stunned because the word ‘hair’, given the ‘h’, blew a wave of halitosis at my face with the force of a thousand suns. It took me a few seconds to muster up a thank you. Then she wanted a step by step as to how I style it like that (honestly, I get asked this all the time – apparently, it’s a very impressive hair do). She then went on to compliment my outfit, eyes, nails and accent. I was beginning to think she wanted to make out with me (the thought of which, made me choke slightly on my own vomit). But then she showed me she’s going bald and rambled for a while about government conspiracies. It was a very strange encounter.
So, to avoid coming off like one of those creepos, limit the compliments to just one. Make it a broad sweeping one that doesn’t weird the person out. If you go past two plaudits, it gets uncomfortable. Go past three, I want to call the cops.
Tags: clothes, compliments, overenthusiastic people
Posted in fashion | 5 Comments »